Bill’s Bull



“What a dump.” Larry kicked at a holey plastic disk on the dusty ground.

“Perhaps,” Bill acquiesced. “But it is my dump.”

“Fit for a match,” Larry snickered. The place stunk.

Bill regarded his cousin. He recognized the green-eyed monster behind the hooded eyes. “Perhaps,” he replied finally, “but I foresee another kind of match.”

“Like what?” Bill had the Midas Touch. It drove Larry nuts, but maybe this time he’d get some of it to rub off on him. Could use some green.

“Plastic sheeting, sprinklers, plants.”


“Already got plenty here!” Bill laughed. “Used to hold animals, that.”



For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Bill Reynolds


26 thoughts on “Bill’s Bull

  1. Ah, he dreams of wonderfulness in the wilds. Next time I am there, I will ask about rehab plans, but I suspect that scene may be sadly permanent.
    I much prefer Bill’s outlook. And you’re correct about the bullshit (horseshit, too). It’s everywhere, mostly dried cow patties. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Got a laugh out of me on that one! Made me think of my mom’s garden when I was in high school. We’d moved to southern Minnesota, and the yard was plenty big enough for her large garden. It flourished like magic. Then one of the members of the church commented that Mom’s garden spot was right where the farmer who lived there before had kept his hogs penned. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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